


Courting Desire: A Demigod in King Louis XIV's Court

by BrytteMystere



Category: Courting Desire (Visual Novel), French History RPF, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Stories: Love and Choices, Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Also a Daughter of Poseidon, Based on the book 'Courting Desire' from the Stories app, Blame the Poseidon Cabin over at the PJO Discord Server, Ethel Federighi is the MC, Everyone is Bisexual (Except Louis), F/M, Go read it it's awesome, How are you expecting my depressed ass to be?, I was Tempted into Writing this, If nor the app nor the show could be accurate to history, M/M, Multi, Playing with History like nobody's business, References to "Son of the Western Sea", Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25843189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrytteMystere/pseuds/BrytteMystere
Summary: Why oh why did she even think that going to Paris was a good idea? Why did she have to touch the glowing emerald ring?Had she seen this in a movie, she would have screamed at the obvious dumbass to not do so. Yet. Here she was. In the past. Because why not?
Relationships: Armand de Bordeaux (Courting Desire)/Original Female Character, Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur (Versailles 2015)/OFC/Armand de Bordeaux, Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur (Versailles 2015)/Original Female Character
Kudos: 5





	1. Children of the Sea Don't Drown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **So. I know I have like. Every other story unfinished and I may have taken after Ryuugi in the last way I ever wanted to, yet here we are. I just need some silliness to pass the time, so take this lightly. As tagged, this is based on the _Stories: Love and Choices_ app, yet with heavy influences from the _Versailles_ show (because Alex Vlahos is unfairly gorgeous), and a crossover with _Percy Jackson and the Olympians_ mostly out of my brief thought of _'wouldn't it be funny if the person who threw the MC into the pond to drown didn't realize she is actually perfectly fine?'._ Also because I wanted the MC to be able to rescue herself a bit more, and being a demigod sort of helps for that.**

Ethel wasn't exactly new to strange circumstances. As a demigod born after the second war against the titans, her sense of normalcy was perhaps higher than her elder brother - the famous and infamous per turns Percy Jackson - yet still far from what a mortal would usually envision.

Still, sure as she was of the craftsmanship the Hecate cabin had lately managed to grant Camp Half Blood in cooperation with the Hephaestus cabin, the last thing she had expected in her trip to Paris was trouble.

She had chosen her own charm as a set of blue-green scales etched on her left foot, and the special ink, a mixture of Celestial Bronze and Ichor, along with the magic of the incantations involved during its etching on her skin, should have rendered her extremely unappealing and uninteresting to any monster in a ten mile radius. Being a child of Poseidon, this was a particularly astounding feat, and the only reason she had even considered going back to Europe.

Somehow, regardless of expectations, it had been enchanted jewelry and not monsters which had landed her in a troublesome spot.

Why else would she be running from french guards, having escaped a somehow renewed palace by the skin of her teeth? After being accused of spying by a most inconvenient servant?

Laying on a rooftop and panting as she heard the guards disperse at long last, she glanced down at the pretty dress she had put on that morning, hoping against hope that she had thought to carry on her something useful, beyond the tiniest pack of ambrosia her brother had bullied her into always carrying.

Mayhaps she could run all the way to the sea? A lake?

Why oh why did she even think that going to Paris was a good idea? Why did she have to touch the glowing emerald ring?

Had she seen this in a movie, she would have screamed at the obvious dumbass to not do so. Yet. Here she was. In the past. Because why not?

* * *

Three hours later, Apollo's journey had left her dazzled and still she had managed to fully process the fact that, somehow, she had time travelled via lightbeam straight into the 17th century. Which. Okay. Sure.

She was, again, extremely thankful for the magical tattoo on her left foot, more than certain of how extremely dead she would be if not for its mercy from Lamia's bullshit shenanigans.

It was time to find some charitable soul to help her. Unlike Percy, after all, she hadn't hit the power jackpot, nor was Poseidon inordinately fond of her. The most she could do was shapeshift, and that only into other humanoid shapes, so… not too outrageous, when it came to the usual powers of a child of the Sea God.

None of that would help her now, in any case, and while her hold on the Mist was moderately good, she couldn't exactly use it to draw herself back into the future.

So she did the next best thing and used it to get clothing that wouldn't stand out as much as her own, and a new hairstyle.

* * *

Walking through 1657's Paris was strange, without a doubt.

Europe in general had always seemed strangely ancient, even to her, born in Spain and quickly moved to the southernmost part of Canada to make reaching the Camp easier. Such a lingering aura, however, had not the impact seeing at such a moment in time had.

Ethel Federighi, bastard child on both ends of her parentage, had grown far more privileged than most demigods, and considered her French quite good for not being descended from Aphrodite, yet the language had changed quite significantly from 1657 to 2031.

Even with all her fervent knowledge of languages - and this was one of her few accomplishments, how she had managed to painfully overcome dyslexia to learn French, Italian and German on top of her mostly native Spanish and English, when in most physical endeavours beyond swimming she was less than tolerable - understanding the people flowing in and around her in the streets was an exercise in endless frustration.

The once glowing emerald ring she had picked up in the midst of her escape seemed to help communications from her end, but understanding was left to her own poor brain to decode without fanfare.

So she walked, observing and offering a polite smile and dismissive shake of her head at every loud offer of goods she was called to examine. After all, she doubted that her lone 5 euros and her useless debit card would get her anything in the 17th century. She had been ready for a brief yet rewarding excursion into Versailles with the rest of her class, not to be drawn from her own time centuries in the past. Into a whole different palace, at that.

Walking, flowing with the crowd and getting lost in her thoughts, it should have perhaps been less than surprising that she would get accosted by a pair of thugs. Really, had she been less into trying to absorb as much of the architecture as she could for Annabeth's benefit, Ethel would have seen them coming a long while ago.

Either way, it became impossible to _not_ notice the two men invading her space when the previous crowd had pulled back as if she had suddenly caught fire. It seemed that, even back in Ye Olde Times, people were prone to ignore issues that didn't concern them.

* * *

Waking up in a strange room wasn't the best of experiences, especially when one was well aware of the sort of ridiculous situations demigods were prone to stumble into.

Soon enough, however, memories were pieced together and Ethel groaned into the dark room.

Not only had she had an outrageously difficult time with two lowly thugs that her brother could have dispatched with a harsh gaze, but she had even ended up saved by a man who could have accidentally ran her over had his horse not kept himself from doing so. Turns out that running without care for directions, two somewhat beaten thugs on your heels, almost being run over and not having eaten anything since dinner the previous night, can join to make a girl faint at her newfound saviour's feet.

She could almost hear the laughter that would accompany that particular retelling, back at Camp.

Ethel rose from the bed just as a timid knock drew her attention, soon to be followed by a maid the draw curtains hardly let her see.

_"Hello?"_

Her accent was thicker than intended, yet the prompt glare of sunlight that followed the opening of the curtains shut her up, and blinded her, for quite a while.

_"Mademoiselle, it is a pleasure to see you have regained your senses. I am Jeanne, here to help you on orders from the Duke of Bordeaux, who found you this midday and brought you here when you lost consciousness."_

Ethel took five awkward minutes to comprehend what the maid had just told her - accents added to old French made it even more of a pain to understand - and ended up nodding.

_"Thank you then, Jeanne. I am Ethel Federighi, and would kindly ask you for some water, if possible?"_

Her voice remained raspy, and in truth she would have loved a bathtub filled to the brim with seawater to chill in, but a glass of water would have to do.

She would have to address the sheer embarrassment of _fainting_ at a later point.

Jeanne was extremely kind and helpful, anyway, not needing even a touch of Mist influence to grant her a dress and a new hairdo.

The dress in question was a tad tight on the chest, and clearly made for someone taller than her, but since it was apparently left behind by a duchess or another in her last visit to the Duke - Armand, his name was Armand - she couldn't exactly complain.

Soon she was on her way to Armand's study, and a breath or three had to be taken when she fully realized that he was, for sure, one of the men she had seen in her latest dreams.

Which… hadn't felt like the usual demigod dreams, but then, she hadn't expected to see the men she had seen then in portraits at Versailles, much less in person.

_"Your Grace, I… I'm afraid I have been taken from my home and dropped quite unfairly in some situation I cannot fathom. Why else would I have been drawn into the Queen's personal study by this ring?"_

Now, Ethel had seen enough movies to know the broadest strokes of the era, and the last thing she wanted was to be accused of witchcraft. Still, Armand had already saved her once, and she needed answers. If he seemed prone to accuse her of being a witch, even after having taken her to his own household to recover from the panic attack that had made her faint, she had the Mist ready at her fingertips.

That said, the last thing she expected when she showed him the emerald ring in question was for him to have an exact same one, if rather better kept than the one which had taken her into the past.

Through a partly endlessly confusing discussion, she ended up revealing that she was, in fact, from the future, and thankfully he considered her a victim of whatever had made his family's engagement ring take her through time rather than some dreadful witch ready to doom him to hell, or some other nonsense.

_"Mademoiselle Ethel, you shall be under my protection, and have a place within my household, for as long as it takes to find a way back to… your time."_

It was nice, she supposed. To have someone to trust in the 17th century. Mayhaps her luck wasn't as bad as usual…

* * *

Her luck, it turned out, was _worse_.

In between one day and the next, she seemed to have managed to get two highly ranked women at court after her head.

And the King was dying. Of fucking course.

The day started well enough, she guessed. Armand had granted her a peaceful week in his home, _Villaroy_ , and it wasn't even the third day when he had arranged for a moderate wardrobe for her use.

Ethel still was uncertain of whether to believe him endlessly kind, or wait for whenever the price would be demanded, but sue had to admit that the rather raunchy dreams she hadn't stopped having kept messing with her perception of him.

Well. Him, and a man she had yet to meet.

Along with Jeanne, she had a tutor of etiquette, for Armand had come to Paris in order to visit the ailing King, and she was bound to accompany him sooner rather than later. So she trained, and once she was even slightly considered ready, back to the palace - how she had been at Versailles and appeared at the Château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye was still a mystery - she went.

On the extremely bumpy carriage ride to the Palais Royale, Armand had assured her that, despite the King feeling somewhat poorly due what the previous night he had confessed was probably an assassination attempt, he was bound to be extremely grateful for the entertainment. And, since he had eventually disclosed that he had taken a lost girl as his ward while she recovered her memories and found her way back home, both Louis and Philippe were keen on meeting her.

The Queen Dowager, Anne of Austria, was less interested, but the very idea of meeting the royal family still left her more than a tad nervous.

It would have certainly been just perfect if she could have had a child of Athena by her side, or even Percy alone. Court was always portrayed akin to a nest of vipers in most shows, and getting involved with it, regardless of the gorgeous fashions, was less than appealing.

Still, her benefactor was bound to the palace most of his days, so it would be better for her to accompany him, and hopefully find some way to go back home in the process.

She could hear the horses drawing the carriage, like whispers in her mind, and it occasionally distracted her from Armand, but he didn't seem to lose patience with her at any point.

In the end, a pothole broke a wheel and they ended up riding the rest of the way. Which was… awkward with the huge dress and all. Had she not been a daughter of Poseidon, she could have easily ended up face-planting into the ground.

* * *

Philippe d'Orléans was 18 years old and already far more ridiculously gorgeous than any portrait had been able to express. The closest she could see to him was her not-so-secret crush, Alexander Vlahos, who had also just happened to play him in a show she had _definitely_ not binged.

He had also, apparently, met her in his dreams as well, which was… far less expected. He had even painted a portrait that, if not masterful, was well done enough to recognise herself in it.

_"W-What… How… You too?"_

Her response had clearly also surprised him, because they proceeded to have a most enlightening conversation that proved both of them had been having dreams of the other. It turned out hers just happened to also include Armand.

Till then, at least. If she had their reactions to her and each other to go by, it was quite possible that Philippe would also start to dream of them all _dancing_ together before long.

_"Come, we should see Louis now. He does need distraction. Being bed bound doesn't agree with him."_

And so, after some more talks and a brief tour around the château, they were all at the King's antechamber, wherein several individuals already stood.

To the left of the King's sumptuous bed, his loyal manservant, Bontemps, stood at attention. Farther away, a man wearing cardinal red and a tall, dark-haired woman were also in place.

Ethel, of course, had no idea of who these two persons may be, for while she could deduce that to the King's right there could only be sitting the Queen Dowager, and closest on his left his most personal servant, the other two individuals left her at a loss.

Thinking about things a tad more deeply, all she could recall were scraps of information she herself couldn't tell from fiction. As a demigod, her focus had naturally shifted more towards the History of Ancient Greece and Rome, following by the most recent developments, rather than intermediate times such as the Ancien Royaume. Even if right around then she dearly wished she had.

A child of Athena right around then would have been a magnificent companion, but this was a quest she had been dragged into on her lonesome.

Still, she had not spent endless hours playing royalty with her friends at the Aphrodite cabin for nothing, so her curtsey didn't embarrass her.

Armand had been kind enough to introduce her as his temporary ward, _Mademoiselle Ethel_ , and had she been a mortal she would probably be mortified.

However, she wasn't, and after several fortunate and unfortunate meetings with the Gods, there was little even this great royal family could do to daunt her. Mayhaps it was also the lingering aura of her own mortal mother's family, who even having fallen from grace, had once held royalty as well.

Yet the most important part was this: she was a child of the Sea. And the Sea did not like to be restrained, much less subjugated. Even if she was far from being the powerhouse named Perseus Jackson, Ethel Federighi still had her own dignity and pride.

She was meeting a King and a Queen. She had met a Prince, and a Duke. Yet they were also meeting _her_ and not being more favoured than Percy didn't mean that her own father had any intention of letting any assault on her person pass.

These thoughts may have perhaps been considered excessively prideful if it weren't for the fact that she could feel the unknown individuals piercing her with killing intent.

_"Your Majesties, it is an honour to be granted this meeting. I dearly wish for His Majesty's health to continue improving, and if my voice could entertain, let me offer it."_

These words were prompted mostly from the fact that the King, this infamous Louis XIV who couldn't be too distant in age from her, had demanded entertainment, music to be exact, and his bard seemed to be unable to speak.

Such a situation had, of course, not improved the mood of the monarch, and she could already see the displeasure in the Queen Dowager's face.

Hoping to keep the poor musician from some unnecessary punishment, she had felt mildly pressured to sing on his behalf, if only because the lately introduced Cardinal Mazarin and his niece, Marie Mazarin, had already set her on edge.

Ethel had seen enough tantrums from the gods to know that happenstances of life, like laryngitis, mattered not as long as they wanted something. They would get it, or punish the poor fool who was unable to comply.

So, after a brief conversation with the man about the basic instrumental she would need, and another brief interval with Armand to give him a basic rundown of the chorus and some verses he could help her with, Ethel found herself singing _La Vie En Rose_ to Louis XIV, his mother, his brother, a cardinal and his niece, asides from the servants present yet blending by the walls.

_Why is it that my life has reached such a scene?_

* * *

Around half an hour later, she found herself calmly walking by a rather deep pond, having left Armand and Philippe to their own private discussions and Jeanne to handle the aftereffects of the rumours between servants she had already made the first moves to counteract.

Honestly, she had been in the past for what seemed like a day and yet the amount of things she ended up having to deal with increased exponentially every time she blinked, or at least so it seemed. Court intrigue had always seemed extremely entertaining to see, yet now that she found herself in the thick of it, the fun aspects of it had mostly died.

Even lost in thought, her senses remained ever aware. So she couldn't ignore the broken stick close by her back, even if she did her utmost to pretend she remained unawares.

_So, that girl has truly decided to act this rashly? To threaten me and so quickly send someone, is she mad?_

Marie Mazarin had, in fact, threatened her life if she didn't, supposedly, keep trying to throw herself at Philippe. Which… okay, she had dismissed because it sounded far too much like something coming from a soap opera villain rather than an actual person. And as she felt a strong push moving her straight into the pond, hands ready to clasp the aggressor and pull them with her into it, she guessed taking it a tad more seriously couldn't have hurt.

* * *

The man - and now, beneath the water, she could definitely tell it was a man - struggled to get away from her ever sinking form, the heavy water-logged dress pulling them both downwards.

Yet, this person had heavily miscalculated.

Usually barely average in strength, the water was enough to seriously empower Ethel, regardless of its relative lack of salinity. Even beyond that, the very thought of a mortal defeating a child of Poseidon underwater was ridiculous.

Especially when they had back up, as she soon realized she had.

Clawed hands grasped the ankles of the blonde man, his curly hair unleashed and free after his unexpected dive. His terrified eyes met Ethel's peaceful stare, before she let his wrists go and mentally thanked the Naiads who had come to her call.

The man would not leave the pond alive, and this was enough to cheer her up, spending a moment calmly swaying in the water before she moved herself up. The water, fresh or from the sea, was her home. Her dress, heavy as it was, having thoroughly soaked, could not discomfort her, or impede her movements.

_'Poseidon, father, accept this man who sought to harm me as sacrifice. Keep your gaze on this daughter of yours, please, so I may face what may without worry. I shall make you proud…'_

Even so, just as she was closing into the surface, a man dived in, found her and dragged her out.

Coughing more from the suddenness of changing from breathing in water to breathing air than any imagined drowning, it took her a moment to realize Armand had been the one to pull her out.

_"Ethel! Ethel, are you alright?"_

She blinked again, confused.

_"Armand, you are soaking wet!"_

Now, were she in her own time, with those in the know, it would have been an easy matter to dry them both in a second, but in the 17th century and witch trials still being a thing, she refrained.

Just as well, however, since she soon realized Philippe was there too, by her side. It seemed, after some back and forth, that Jeanne had seen the tail end of the situation, screamed her lungs out, and thus drawn both men towards her unfortunate accident.

 _"No, I didn't fall. I was_ **_pushed_** _."_

As if on cue, a figure slowly bobbled upwards in the pond, clearly dead to her every sense.

Philippe and Armand startled, and Ethel felt lucky enough for Jeanne having left already to prepare her a warm bath in one of the guest rooms.

Seeing her new Mistress fall into the pond had been bad enough without having to see the resurfacing corpse of her assailant, and the last thing anyone needed was Jeanne drawing more people in.

After some maneuvering, the corpse was recovered, and although it had quite unnaturally bloated, Philippe was able to recognize him as the Chevalier de Lorraine.

_Well, fuck._

* * *

That night, Ethel stared at the canopy of her new bedroom and pondered the latest developments of this mess of a quest she found herself in.

Living now at the Château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye, with both the Duke of Bordeaux and the very brother of the King, _Monsieur_ , as her protectors, it was practically official that she had become part of the French Court.

Which was… unexpected, to say the least, but so things went.

Some mysterious connection drew her not only to Armand, but also Philippe, and yet the latter seemed to be engaged to be married. To Marie Mazerin. _Of all people._

She truly didn't know what was going on. Was she meant to find who had poisoned the King? Influence the French Court somehow?

She didn't know… but finding out, well… it was a matter of time, wasn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Can you all believe I have legitimately written this? It will be two parts, and I hope to post the second before next week (and my new job) catch up with me. Also, yes, I killed the Chevalier. I sort of. Really hate him. Philippe deserves better, and since the app already gave me the rather awesome Armand, I shall use him.**   
>  **On a slightly more serious note: took me several hours to realize that hey, Versailles isn't a thing yet in 1657, but I had to start in 1657 to nip Philippe's love affair with the Chevalier at the bud, so. Here we are! I will mostly be following the app's events with just the SLIGHTEST true historical tidbits here and there. Wish me luck!**
> 
> P.S.: Federighi is the surname of a noble family originating in Florence that eventually moved to Spain.


	2. Ties to the Past, Ties to the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ethel and Philippe put gender in question, Armand is the solid rock they trust, and Mazarin is a douchebag.

Living at the Palace was as stressful as it was exciting.

For even if she loved the dresses and the décor, there never seemed to be much time to simply… be.

If she wasn't counteracting rumours about her person, or garnering favour from courtiers, servants and royals alike, she was investigating who exactly had poisoned the king, and sent the Chevalier de Lorraine to try and drown her.

They could be one and the same, or two very different persons. To date it had been well over a month, King Louis was improving, and yet answers remained scarce.

Lying on her third bath of the day - and oh, was she considered strange for her extreme fondness for baths - she pondered potential paths.

The upcoming fortnight a Masquerade Ball would be held, and mayhaps then she could gather some manner of concrete proof of the hypothesis she had been able to construct with every scrap of information at hand.

Louis XIV was bound to marry Marie-Thérèse of Spain, and Philippe was engaged as well, to Marie Mazarin.

The Queen remained firm in her favouritism of her eldest son, and though it bothered Ethel to no end whenever she heard someone badmouth Philippe for things his own mother had taught him to do in her endless attempts to emasculate him, the demigod had learned he took things in stride, and was quite capable of defending himself, even if he did occasionally appreciate someone interceding on his behalf.

So, even if to the Court's eyes he should have been the most probable culprit, the one with the most to gain, Ethel was certain _Monsieur_ had nothing to do with the assassination attempt. Philippe had no intention of becoming King, nor would his affection for his brother ever allow him to fathom any thoughts of betrayal.

Armand, meanwhile, had been in Bordeaux at the time of the poisoning, and while he could have conceivably sent an agent, there were more probable subjects.

Like… Like Cardinal Mazarin.

Ethel shifted in her bath, the salty water shifting with her and intensifying the perfume of mint leaves Jeanne had talked her into including, as well as the few pieces of ice that had yet to melt.

It may well be Autumn in Paris, but Ethel remained unused to the seemingly endless layers she now wore, and thus required ice baths to cool down. If it was her go-to excuse to avoid multitudes when the underlying stink of perfumes and sweat mingling got too overwhelming, no one needed to know.

 _Anyways_ , it wasn't like she could just accuse a Cardinal, much less someone as dear to the Queen Dowager as Mazarin, without proof. Even if he was the only one, to her eyes, that could have done it.

After all, with the amount of tasters Louis had, only someone extremely close and trusted could have slipped in the arsenic in his food after the tastings were done. Discarding Philippe and the Queen, that only left the Cardinal.

The Cardinal, who had taken advantage of the King's illness to promote the engagement between Philippe and his niece. The Cardinal, whose opinion on Philippe and his abilities remained far lower than it ever should be.

So what if _Monsieur_ liked to dress as a woman from time to time? So what if he had been occasionally hedonistic?

The longer she'd known the Prince, the more certain she was of his brilliance. That, and he looked gorgeous no matter what he chose to put on, so she didn't see the issue. It wasn't like men in the time she was currently in even fit the standards of masculinity she was used to.

Not that she minded.

With a sigh, she sunk into the water, her knees being drawn further out as her upper body submerged. And as she let herself relax, Ethel felt her body shift.

This was only something she let herself do in these times, alone with the water, doors locked, no attendants to be seen. As much as it rakled, it would be foolish in the extreme to shift with anyone else around.

Ethel felt their shoulders broaden, jaw sharpen, chest flatten as everything changed accordingly.

At Camp, it would have been possible to dress as a man and calmly spend their day. Just be male for as long as they felt like it.

At Court, Ethel was bound to remain a she, regardless of the day and moment. The most grace granted was being able to lounge in Philippe's most masculine clothing within his rooms.

And even then, both the men she had grown close to had taken some days to fully process this need.

Not that Ethel considered herself particularly masculine, or, well, genderfluid. Such was a label she wasn't yet certain was in her right to use.

To her, whose powers were so limited, this shifting was communion. A celebration of the eternal link to the Sea God, to Percy, Tyson and Frank, to her fellow demigods. Something only in her grasp, something that set her apart, that had taken time and effort to control, and now let whatever gender boundaries were there banish if only for a few hours.

* * *

It felt as if only a second had passed, yet she had clearly been asleep, only awakening as the subtle echo of someone tapping the water.

Opening her eyes, she was startled at seeing Philippe through the water, rising up so fast they would have collided had he not been fast enough to dodge.

_"Monsieur! H-How?"_

Her voice was deeper, and only then did Ethel recall just in what situation she was. Blinking, she froze, unsure if the situation would worsen were she to shift in place to her feminine form.

A caress in her cheek broke her panicked thoughts, and as her gaze met Philippe's again, she found only soft appreciation.

_"Was this the last thing you were hiding, cherie? Did you think I would despise you?"_

A soft kiss on her forehead, hands caressing her hair. Feeling this, if only for a moment, Ethel felt peace settle deep, to the bone.

It was a quiet moment.

They were alone in the room, her body slowly shifting back beneath the water, as Philippe held her against his chest. Locks of his glossy dark hair reached the surface of the water, every strand swaying with the gentlest shifts of it.

_"Do you think I am a witch, Monsieur?"_

_"Philippe. You may call me Philippe, mon cher. I've told you so several times now, haven't I?"_

She gulped, and nodded. He still held her close, his fingers now slowly separating every strand of her hair, untangling it with such care she hardly felt any pull at all.

Ethel had heard, from what information Jeanne had gotten from the servants, that there remained unease as to her origins, her sometimes odd manners, the lingering accent she couldn't hide.

The dark olive tone of her skin, the sheer greenness of her eyes… everything was, no matter what, considered suspicious.

It didn't seem to matter how much effort she put in fitting in, her very aura and what mannerisms were too ingrained to easily change drew attention, marked her strange.

Yet, when it was only her and Philippe, or Armand, or both, she didn't feel alien at all.

There was a familiarity she couldn't quite explain, beyond the fact that they kept appearing in her dreams and both had declared themselves her protectors.

_"I don't truly know who you are, or where you come from. I must confess the idea of the future is hard to conceptualize. But I know one thing and I know it to my soul: you are no witch. If anyone tries to harm you… I will face them by your side, no matter what."_

A sob choked itself within her throat, and she rose further from her bath to hug him close, without regard for his clothing.

Mayhaps it was this, keeping her from truly trying to find her way back. From looking for other demigods, from finding her way back to the sea, and her father. This wholehearted acceptance she couldn't quite understand.

Philippe was a complicated man, and despite his more easy going mannerisms, so was Armand. Yet whether out of a sense of Christian duty or endless dreams chasing her image, they remained her steadfast supporters.

_"Philippe… Philippe… I think I love you…"_

His laugh was gentle, warm and seemed to come from deep within.

_"I think I love you as well, ma petite."_

It was her turn to laugh, relieved and warmed to the core. For even if he was three years her junior, Philippe remained a full head taller, and had taken to calling her _his little one_ whenever he thought her morose.

Relaxing against him, even as he pulled her out of the bathtub, gently drying her skin, she let herself be pampered.

* * *

Armand ended up finding them some hours later, curled up in bed and whispering stories to each other.

Ethel was now in a simple nightgown, Philippe having shed several of his layers to set them to dry by the fireplace.

All in all, they weren't exactly the picture of proper modesty. Yet Armand only sighed at them, shaking his head and locking the door behind him.

As he knelt by the foot of the bed, Ethel and Philippe looked at him, cheek to cheek, their best puppy dog eyes in place. Armand sighed, setting one hand in each of their thighs and telling them further delays would mean their missing dinner altogether.

With laughter and gentle leading, however, he was convinced to lay with them, all happily cuddling in bed, exchanging stories of their childhoods, their preferred outings, and the like.

Their absence was indeed remarked upon, but regardless of how Marie Mazarin and her uncle, the Cardinal, grind their teeth, a duke and the Prince were granted more leeway than most.

* * *

Even if Ethel spent her days between the royal family and the Court, slowly yet steadily gathering favour from all thanks to Philippe and Armand's guidance, she remained at her core a nobody whom the Duke of Bordeaux had taken in as his ward.

So what if she was allowed to go on picnics with _Monsieur_ and the Duke? So what if she had tea with the Queen?

Every day was a race to subvert whatever new derogatory gossip Marie Mazarin had set against her, a new test between the courtiers to see if she would break, if she would fail, if she would cry.

More than once Ethel had ended her days curled up between Philippe and Armand, soul exhausted and tears flowing for them to see. King words, kind caresses, were barely keeping her together to face the new day.

Every night, she prayed to her father for guidance, for strength, for the endless determination she knew the sea contained. The type of inner strength her older brother had so clearly exuded, the type of strength she longed for.

Now, with the continuous intrigues at court, most of the time she was too busy playing catch up with what a lady of these days was meant to know to be alone with her thoughts but… at night, when even her companions had fallen asleep, she couldn't help but long for the Camp, for New Athens and Long Island itself.

For the endlessly buzzing New York streets, the fragrant strawberry fields of Camp Half-Blood. Why, on some strange occasions she even happened to miss the Harpies, and the climbing rock walls with lava she had so extremely despised every day of training.

But most of all she missed her family.

Percy, Tyson, Estelle, Sally… Annabeth, Nico and Will, her many cousins, even Drew! She happened to go to sleep with their names on her soul, occasionally calling for them in the deep of the night, prayers mangled by her sleepy mind, reaching fruitlessly towards everything she had been torn from.

For her, who had so rarely been targeted by monsters, thanks mostly to the advancements at camp and her older brother's protectiveness, saw her life in the 21st century as the glossiest of halcyon days.

_'Do any of you miss me? Has any time at all passed on your side? Did Ella somehow predict this? Rachel? Did someone try to warn me and I didn't realize?'_

Curling further into Philippe's chest, her mind at last was lost in dreams.

* * *

There was only darkness around her, faint laughter that chilled her soul just as the narrow stone she felt with every slight movement chilled her body.

In her confusion, it took her a moment or two to realize she couldn't even raise her arms, so narrow was the space, and as her head lifted upwards, the faintest hints of light could be discerned from the darkness.

_"You won't get away with this! Mazarin, Monsieur will tear you apart!"_

This voice was hers, and yet she hadn't meant to speak. It was all akin to being a copilot in her own body, and Ethel found the overall experience less than pleasant.

_'This is a dream. A… demigod dream? Yes. This hasn't happened yet. But how?'_

She didn't understand. Truly, nothing made sense.

All she could hear was Cardinal Mazarin's laughter, getting farther and farther away, as endless dread pooled within her.

* * *

She woke up fairly agitated, with a confused and sleepy Philippe hugging her tightly and trying to comfort her. Armand, who was dear but slept like a log, remained in Morpheus' thrall through what seemed to have been her launching herself at her poor Prince without much forewarning.

_"Ma petite, what is it? Has some nightmare worried you?"_

Philippe's voice, his warmth, his heartbeat by her ears. All this was enough to start settling her raw nerves, and she clung to him.

_"I-I need you. Philippe, please…"_

His laughter was husky with sleep, yet those magnificent eyes of his were already half opened and laser focused on her.

_"I'm here for you. However you need me, come…"_

Armand would end up waking up from their activities, joining in quite happily, and so the night and her dreams lost their hold on Ethel.

As long as she had them, as long as they were by her side, nothing could faze her.

* * *

Tea with the Queen was always as pleasant as it was nerve-wracking.

Especially when it turned out she had started to suspect her once extremely beloved Cardinal Mazarin and needed Ethel to act as her spy.

Honestly, Ethel didn't think she had the needed attributes of a spy, but when facing the mother of an absolute monarch, there wasn't exactly an option to refuse.

After all, her standing at court was still a house of cards waiting to be blown away on the breeze, and she truly felt that whatever had pulled her into the past, had to do with this unexpected shebang with Louis XIV getting poisoned.

He wasn't yet even married to Marie Thérèse, nor had he had who would be Louis XV yet. So there was no way his dying out of nowhere in 1657 wouldn't throw the whole world into wack. No. Her quest had to do with this assassination, and thus all she could do was agree.

Talk of the every particular involved in her mission lasted till almost sundown, and so she was walking the darkened halls with some guards when Mazarin made his move.

This was, of course, sending people to apprehend her on suspicion of being a witch. Of all things.

Ethel wasn't a swordswoman. Nor was she by far the best fighter her father had begotten. Yet, she was a demigod, and when it came to mortals, this edge remained.

Still, five on one were never good odds, and she wasn't exactly by a source of water right within the palace.

 _'Mazarin… I will tear you to shreds and sacrifice your heart to my father. You_ **_thrice damned coward._ ** _'_

* * *

There was no way to win, or at least, not a way that wouldn't make things worse for her, so… all she did was stalling.

Stalling, screaming, dodging left and right, till reinforcements came in the shape of her two protectors.

Ethel backflipped towards Philippe, who quite gracefully caught her waist on air and helped her hide behind him.

Armand, sword in hand, helped further hide her person against the remaining three guards she hadn't yet knocked out.

Gasping, legs trembling, she wasn't then the picture of ladylike-behaviour, brought down to just her, a young woman in a dress that could swallow her up without concern for her opinions. And right then, as Philippe argued that Mazarin had no right to lock her in the dungeons, she very much wished she was far away, back by her chair in the kitchen at the Jackson't house, eating her plateful of chocolate chip cookies as Estelle teased her as Percy laughed.

What wouldn't she give, to have Sally Jackson hug her and tell her everything would be alright? Offering her another batch of cookies even as her siblings caressed her hair?

To see Tyson, back again with a new marvellous creation, his eye gleaming with joy at her pleased expression?

To be at Camp Half-Blood, at New Athens, surrounded by family and friends?

Anywhere sounded better than this place, in which she was being accused of witchcraft, could be killed for it, and only had two people on her side?

Tears streamed down her face and all she wanted was to reach the ocean and sink down, down, down where none of these mortals could reach her.

The situation went by in a blur, and the next thing she knew she was back in her assigned room, Philippe and Armand trying to get her to react again as concern was etched in their faces.

There was to be a trial. _A trial._

She fell to her knees, even as Philippe tried his best to reassure her that Louis was fair. That she would be declared innocent.

No words came from her, there was no way. How to express that the very fact of someone being able to accuse her out of the blue, of her continued life depending on the ultimate whims of a man whose only contact with her had been through half remembered songs to entertain him, was horrifying by its lonesome?

She had of course heard of the times Zeus had tried to vote her brother dead, but this… this was a _mortal._

That night, her dreams were filled with her family, a normal lunch between Sally, Estelle, Percy, and her. There were chocolate chip cookies and blue cake. Cheeseburgers and freshly picked strawberries. Everything was peaceful and she could even feel a brief yet loving breeze, eyes meeting Percy's own as they smiled.

_"Don't worry, sis. I'm on my way. It won't take long now…"_

At first she was confused. Her dream self had no idea what he could mean, but then she felt that breeze again, her father's voice ringing in her ears.

_"The Sea doesn't like to be restrained…"_

Percy's smile was positively wicked, right then. The sort of mischief lingering on the edges of it that always seemed to appear whenever someone threatened his younger sisters.

Somehow, Tyson had mostly graduated from meriting that look in virtue of his own fighting prowess, but she guessed neither her nor Estelle were the best fighters.

Sally kissed her forehead right then, her sweet scent calming her nerves and settling in like the most peaceful perfume, even beyond sleep.

Ethel woke up with Estelle's giggles fading from her ears.

Her brother was coming, _somehow._ Her father had not forgotten her. She was beyond the reach of mortals. In bed, cuddled between the men who had already been fighting for her safety, she couldn't help but smile.

Somehow, she knew everything would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I just killed off Paul? Mayyybe. Has Sally adopted Ethel and most other demigods as her unofficial children? Yes. Must there be equal draw into both sides of time? Definitely. Would Percy let one of his younger siblings be lost in time? No way. Has this story acquired three parts? Yes, apologies in advance.  
> By the way. All the cursive while they talk normally is because they are actually speaking French.
> 
> Except in dreams, for obvious reasons.


	3. Demigods are Forces to be Reckoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our plot comes to an end, and Ethel gets to enjoy her happy ending.

When she faced her trial, Ethel was wearing a gorgeous golden dress, and her hair was down in endless ringlets barely contained by hairpins and the occasional shining jewel.

Personally, she would have considered herself twice as guilty if only for the excessive ornamentation, yet it seemed the king was pleased.

A random anecdote she had once heard one of her Athena-born cousins say wandered through her mind, of a gorgeous woman - was she Greek? - who had bared herself to her public, using the beauty of her body, of her form, to get out of any punishment. Because apparently beauty equals goodness was a trope which used to be considered far more legitimately than she was used to thinking of it. Though in her world, knowing the gods, it wasn't too strange to assume that someone pretty was blessed by the gods. Even if cases like Psyche proved it could bring an equal amount of strife.

Still, she bore through it all, her work in gaining the appreciation of the courtiers and the king, as well as the servants far and wide, seeing her through the dreadful affair.

Not that having Philippe and Armand on her side didn't help.

As Louis declared her innocent, and the burden of guilt fell upon that damned cardinal, it took all her will to keep herself from melting into the ground, so grand was her relief.

Armand and Philippe had their hands on her lower back, a steady support she greatly needed through the remainder of the trial.

Because in the end, it was terrifying. To see a man as powerful as a cardinal, close to the royal family as he'd been, and his nieces as well, be brought low on the grand  _ proof _ of her testimony and the fact that people and royals alike liked her better.

_ Does this happen often? _ She wondered. _Are_ _ people condemned for not having pleased their jailors enough? _

The thought made her shiver, and she forced herself to still as the cardinal cursed her and glared at them all.

Being granted some time to herself, in her room, was more than needed, and if her steps lightened the farther she was from the king and the dowager queen, she dearly hoped they wouldn-t hold it against her.

* * *

The room was quiet, and she let herself pace, and breathe, and lie against walls whenever her legs threatened to fail her.

It hadn't been more than two months, tops, and yet it felt as if an eternity had gone by.

She pondered on the eventfulness that had haunted her footsteps, the sheer amount of events that could have led her to death, and the thin bravado being a child of the Sea had granted her to bear every day with a small measure of magnanimousness.

And then, as she pondered and pondered what was to become of her now that her quest could be considered as finished… she felt the ring vibrate.

In a rush, she took it off and set it on the bed, where its emerald glowed more and more by the minute.

She stepped back, once, twice, thrice. That ring had brought her through time, and now… could it be? Was it trying to bring her back? Or send her somewhere else?

Ethel didn't dare to risk it.

Her back was against the door, as she watched the ring, as she felt its pull, and terror was taking a hold of her frozen limbs when the door shook with the knock of someone.

She gasped, turning back and quickly darted out of the room, almost colliding straight into a guard's chest, who kindly ignored her embarrassment and informed her that the king wished to speak with her again.

There was a lump in her neck, refusing to leave, yet she nodded and followed the man back into the king's quarters, a tad surprised that only his mother and Bontemps seemed to be there with him.

She curtsied, trembling slightly enough to hopefully go unnoticed, yet the king had good news to her. Apparently due to her excellent service to the crown, she was to be granted the dukedom of Burgundy, and innerly she pondered if the separation between what was to be her holdings and Armand's, located to the west and with the king's own holdings right above her own.

Now, she had not planned to become a ruler, nevermind have anything to do with a dukedom - at most she hoped to help Armand and Philippe with their own thanks to some tips about future techniques - but she guessed that playing as many hours as she had against her Athena cousins and the general chaos the other cabins created in multiplayer  _ Crusader Kings _ , she was bound to not completely mess the whole affair. Especially since she had Armand and Philippe to counsel her in how things were done till her arrival.

She accepted the royal grant with poise, and soon enough found herself in Philippe's room, where Jeanne had informed her both  _ Monsieur _ and the duke were awaiting her.

Mayhaps it was a tad cowardly, to remain shifting between their rooms, even though Jeanne hadn't noticed anything strange during her travels to her own chambers for her new clothes, but Ethel didn't quite dare to face the ring again.

She was going to stay, much as she missed her home, much as she missed her siblings, and her cousins, and the world which had seen her born and raised.

Because Aphrodite had struck deep with Eros' arrows, and the very idea of leaving behind Armand and Philippe was akin to trying to tear her heart out with a spoon.

So she let herself rest between the men that had gained her love, whose love she had won in turn, and rested peacefully for the first time in weeks.

* * *

The last thing she needed, or wanted, truly, the day of the ex-Cardinal Mazarin's execution, was disturbance in her chambers.

So as Jeanne came to wake her in Armand's room - by now fairly inured to her lack of clothing, especially when her lovers weren't around - in a daze to tell her a man in strange clothing had appeared as if from thin air in her chambers… well, her frantic reaction in hastily putting on some clothes and arriving at her somewhat forgotten rooms, abruptly clashed with her joy as she recognized the figure calmly standing by her bedroom window.

_ "P-Percy? Brother, is that truly you?" _

Jeanne gasped behind her, but by then Ethel's whole attention was on him. And, as he turned, casual smirk on his lips as his achingly familiar eyes met her own, she found herself running to him even before he'd finished opening his arms.

_ "We've all missed you greatly, sis!" _

His words dazed her for a moment, as his arms closed on her back and pulled her in, as his scent overwhelmed her senses and she felt their kinship echo like it had after his now rarer and rarer visits home from his endless wanderings.

He had spoken in French, and the local dialect at that, as if the time and distance were no bother at all.

_ "Percy… Percy, how?" _

She was tucked into his neck, held tightly and safe. Her brother,  _ her brother, _ the family she had believed would never again be in reach was now…

Tears flowed from her eyes, the stress she had still held from the decision she hadn't dared to tell her lovers about flowing with them.

Percy held her through it all, and once she was done, granted her the space she needed to get back her bearings.

_ "I'm sorry, sis. I only got news of what happened when I was back from Japan, and… well. The journey was harder than expected. But here I am, I made it. For a short while, at least." _

Once she was more than an emotional mess, Ethel managed a proper introduction between Percy and Jeanne, who was then promptly sent to get Armand and Philippe, if at all available.

Her maid seemed dazed still at her brother's presence, and she assumed Percy had used the Mist on her to ensure her cooperation in finding her without alerting the guards, but couldn't feel too outraged.

Hadn't she done the same? To keep her from recalling the weirdness of her manner, her talks of her future, that so could have doomed her in her trial?

And Percy, ever moving, ever wandering, had paused his journeys to look for her. To find her.

Sitting side by side on the couch at the feet of her bed, they caught each other up with the latest happenstances in their lives.

_ "I'm a duchess now, brother. And I'm to marry another duke, at that. A man who found me during my first days in this time, his name is Armand…" _

Percy's eyes were keen and sharp, their intensity able to see right through her into what she couldn't bring herself to say.

She whispered it instead, from her mind to his, and he sighed.

_ "I would never judge you, sis. But you must be well aware that that prince of yours is bound to get married eventually, are you not?" _

_ Ah, of course you wouldn't. _ She felt more ashamed for doubting him, if only from her own nervousness.

She knew that, even within the French court, her… situation with Armand and Philippe could still prove dangerous. But Percy… no, her older brother would never judge her for loving whom she loved, especially when both individuals were conscious and aware of it, willingly loving her and each other in turn.

_ "Both asked me to marry them. But I… I know what must happen, I know Philippe must… must marry that… well. I know I cannot tie him to me and not have the Fates tempted to get rid of my interference. But Armand is… he is safe, in this way. I cannot recall him marrying anyone at all, and… we three have agreed that… that we love each other." _

Percy sighed then, and offered her the old emerald ring, which had brought her to this time, which had offered to take her back, mayhaps.

_ "Drew informed me that a wedding was in your immediate future, and the oldest members of New Athens left me with some gifts for you, but this… this ring you must keep, okay? Even if you have decided to remain here - and it seems you have - the option should remain in your hands, at least. So keep it. Tyson sent a bracelet for you as well, just in case something happens…" _

Their conversation - and her tremulous acceptance of the ring - was interrupted by Jeanne's knock on the door, and the subsequent appearance of the men she loved behind her.

Armand and Philippe were tense, at first, upon facing her brother - because Jeanne  _ had to _ have informed them beforehand - even after she introduced them.

The tension lasted for what felt like eternity yet was probably a minute or two, before Percy sighed and nodded his acceptance. It seemed they had passed his examination.

_ "So," _ he began after Jeanne again left the room,  _ "I've heard you both love my little sister?" _

Ethel groaned, shoving him quite ineffectually due to the Curse of Achilles, and he turned briefly with a mischievous smile her way.

_ "I assume it'll be fine for me to lead her to the altar?" _

It took a while, but Percy's charisma wasn't something easily ignored, and soon they were all chatting happily enough, even if Ethel groaned more than once at her brother's choice of anecdotes.

He would, indeed, lead her to the altar to Armand, Philippe right beside him as his best man, the King probably observing from wherever he chose to do so when not in the mood to mingle, and the Dowager Queen in the first row.

It felt surreal, for sure, but she knew then, that she had her happy ending, and would not let it go.

* * *

_ Three years later _

Percy's visits were rarer by the year, but Ethel didn't hold it against him.

She had heard her father, and saw it with the advance of time, godhood taking ahold of her brother as surely as it must have Dionysus, way back when.

She was happy, having gotten used to her duties as the Duchess of Burgundy, married to the Duke of Bordeaux.

Twice she had born children, one from each love, and her life felt plentiful. She lived in an Elysium of her own, with Armand and Philippe, with Elizabeth Sophie, and young Philippe Perseus.

Yes, Philippe - her lover, distinct from her young baby boy, whom most called Percy - was bound to marry Henriette of England, just as his brother was bound to marry his own wife the upcoming year, but…

She  _ was _ happy. She knew well, after all, that she had his love, and Armand's, well ensured, and while Percy wasn't exactly happy that she wasn't planning on getting along with her lover's wife, he at most rolled her eyes at her and focused on his niece and nephew.

She accepted the bracelets sent by the Hecate cabin for her children, legacies as they were, and set herself to pen another extensive letter for Annabeth on how life was in the 1600s. Philippe had again lent her brother some clothes, and Armand was busy with her own correspondence, but she still felt light and warmed to the core.

> _ "... Truth is, I don't miss much beyond mom's hugs and time with my family over there. Be sure to send along more sketches of Estelle and Sally in your next missive! I know Percy's… situation advances, and soon he will be rarer to get as courier, but hopefully our communication won't be cut short. _
> 
> _ Send my love to our cousins, and feel free to attach suggestions for Versailles, dearest Annabeth. _
> 
> _ Love, _
> 
> _ Ethel Federighi de Gramont, happy Duchess of Burgundy and Bordeaux" _

Sealing her letter, she left it ready for Percy to take once he left, and setting another gorgeous orange to burn in the personal fire her brother had gifted her, she joined her family,happily posing for pictures with her loving (future bound) family, sadly knowing she couldn't keep the phone in sight except for these brief moments.

No, she was happy. Her life was full.

Ethel was a child of the sea, and she would face the upcoming trials with those who loved her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm unsure if anyone still is following this story, if anyone cares or if this remains my tiny pet project, but one way or another, it has reached its end.
> 
> I may yet come back, for edits and the like, mayhaps a vignette if it comes to it, but this is the official end. I have slightly rushed the game's plot, but ahh, I hope this was entertaining at least. Realistically, Ethel cannot marry the prince of France without seriously messing history up, what with him being the ancestor to most european royals, but ohhh well.
> 
> I think that the game's Armand maaaay have been based on one of Philippe's many lovers, who was the count of Gramond. Here, since Armand in game was supposed to be the duke of Bordeaux, he keeps the name from being the second son of the duke Antoine III of Gramont, having the legit Armand Charles as his eldest brother. Let us just… handwave the fact he is a duke as having gained the title for his service to the crown. Since the reign of Louis XIV started with noble rebellions that ended his father's life, it makes sense if things were a tad rearranged and he gave titles to those who had proved themselves loyal to him from those taken from the rebels? Anyway, it was a pleasure!


End file.
